


Pick Yourself Back Up

by Bronywn, crazyjc



Series: The Life and Times of Marinette Drake [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Comics, DCU, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Drake's A+ Parenting, Eventual Comfort, Hurt, Marinette is Martha Antoinette Drake, Marinette is Tim's sister, Protective Alfred Pennyworth, Protective Batfamily, Select Mutism, They are not physically abusive, but they aren't good, more tags will be added as second chapter is written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:29:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23758417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bronywn/pseuds/Bronywn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyjc/pseuds/crazyjc
Summary: Martha Antoinette Drake has fallen, but that is ok. She's very good at picking herself up.(Two-Shot)
Series: The Life and Times of Marinette Drake [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700302
Comments: 29
Kudos: 282





	Pick Yourself Back Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crazyjc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyjc/gifts).



> My contribution to the Life and Times verse of the AU crazyjc and I have created.

_Martha Antoinette shifted uncomfortably; she didn’t understand what was going on. Mrs. Mac had come in early that morning excitedly discussing how her mother was going to be in town for the day to meet with a person named Audrey Bourgeoise and Martha Antoinette was getting to go along. Mrs. Mac had pulled out one of Martha’s nicer dresses and laid it on the bed before quickly shuffling to the girl’s adjoining bathroom._

_Mrs. Mac had helped bathe and dress Martha Antoinette, gently brushing through dark cascading hair, adding a white headband to complement the red dress and shoes Martha had gladly put on._

_The cold feeling that ghosted her skin told the four-year-old her mother was here._

_The woman hadn’t spoken to or even looked at Martha Antoinette as Mrs. Mac had settled her into the cab of the car and they drove to their destination. The air was tense and it made Martha want to shift away, she had tried to do so until she felt the claws of frustration and disappointment her mother was radiating sink into her skin. So she sat as still as possible, she much rather the cold then the claws that dug into her skin whenever she disappointed the woman Mrs. Mac had said was her mother._

_At last the car came to a stop outside what appeared to be an office building, towering in height and architecture draped in riches. It both blended with the gothic architecture of the buildings surrounding it, and stood out in a subtle way. Martha Antionette found herself wondering about this building and its history, it hadn’t been in the books mother had her memorize, nor had it been mentioned by Tim as anything he had come across during his nightly escapades, escapades that only happened when she either forgot or was unsuccessful in hiding Tim-Tam’s camera._

_Her mother harshly grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly as she pulled Martha forward, sending an unamused glance back when Martha nearly tripped on her own shoes. She understood the flash of frustration that the woman called mother produced, one-time Martha had tripped and torn up her stockings and mother had been furious. The then three-year-old had been forced into private ballet lessons to prevent such a distasteful occurrence from happening again. Afterall the stockings she wore now were to scratchy to be anything less than expensive._

_They climbed the steps that led to the building quickly, gliding across the marble floor of the reception room to the tall desk that separated the visitors from the reception staff._

_“Hello, I’m here for my nine thirty meeting with Madame Bourgeois.” Her mother’s voice was soft as a silk pillowcase, hiding the knife she often times wielded when she was on a business call, or upset with a worker, or disappointed in her or Tim Tam._

_“Ah yes, Mrs. Drake. Madame Bourgeois is waiting for you in her office, top floor. We shall inform her of your arrival.” As soon as the man working the front desk finished speaking her mother nodded and they were gliding again. Once in the elevator her mother shot an unreadable expression her way._

_“I believe you have been taught to behave; thus I expect you to be on your best behavior. Do not sully the Drake name daughter.” There was no anger or disappointment, only the cold that differentiated the woman called mother from everyone else. True, Martha Antoinette hadn’t been around many people besides Tim and Mrs. Mac because she was to young, could make a mistake that would cost the Drake family their respect and prestige, but she could feel the workers her parents would employ to take care of the house and its grounds and none of them had ever been as cold as the woman called mother._

_“Yes, mother.” Martha put on her best gentle voice. She and Timmy had practiced it when she asked him why he sometimes acted differently. Because it was important to separate themselves from their Drake personas. Because otherwise they would disappoint their parents, or lose themselves._

_The rest of the elevator ride was spent in awkward silence, the elevator music filling the void. Martha spent the quick ride thinking about the Chemistry books Timmy had gotten down for her. She had finished all the French books in the library after she and Timmy had taken up learning the language. They had also learned sign after Martha Antoinette had a meltdown. Something had set one of the gardeners off, and the burning had left her breathless. She hadn’t been able to speak, so she and Tim had learned sign in case something like that ever happened again. And while it didn’t happen often, there were times when the swirly sand in her stomach crawled up into her throat and chocked the words from her mouth._

_The chime followed by the sliding noise brought Martha out of her musings on hydrochloric acid and what it could do to organic things. It was both interesting and terrifying. Both Drake’s stepped off the elevator and slowly made their way through the hallway that, much like the outside of the building, was elegant with its arching ceiling and gold trimmings and decorated in paintings that should be in a museum. (Mrs. Mac had taken her and Tim Tam once but they weren’t supposed to say anything about it). Small tables, topped with a granite finish that complimented the marble floors were spread throughout the hallway, decorative plants sat in the center, underneath mirrors._

_Martha wished she had more time to take it in, rarely were she and Timmy allowed to leave the house, and this place was so unique in comparison to the Drake Manor. However, she had to keep moving as her mother pulled her along, heels gently clicking against the floor. Maybe she would be lucky enough to get to see this building again, though she doubted it. Mrs. Mac had only said her mother was in Gotham for the day._

_It made Martha feel empty, the thought of once again being trapped within Drake Manor like a broken doll that needed to be hidden away. It wouldn’t always be like this though; Timmy had told her so. Soon she would be old enough to start school and Martha would go to Gotham Academy with Tim Tam. It was a K-12 school for the more privileged children of Gotham. Although Tim sometimes spoke of bullies and snobbish rich kids, Martha could only think of the classes her spoke about with excitement sparkling in his eyes, and she couldn’t wait. Couldn’t wait to be free of the broken feeling the house and the people who owned it filled her with. The only upside was Timmy and he was gone most of the day during the school year. He once told her he had tried to be homeschooled so he didn’t have to leave her alone during school days, but he had been denied. It was important for the future Drake heir to network with other future leaders, politicians, and CEO’s._

_Martha felt her mother squeeze her hand in warning, causing the four-year-old to push the helplessly broken feeling down, she needed to behave like a good girl._

_The door opened to reveal an office and workroom that was vastly different from the furnishing in the hall and reception room. Whereas those rooms were elegant and welcoming this one was sharp and classic, most likely meant to intimidate and assert dominance. The decorations were all either black, white, ore yellow, and yet they were used in a way that showed wealth and style. Madame Bourgeois appeared to be a businesswoman and a successful one at that, not that Martha had ever doubted otherwise. Timmy had regaled her of stories of how hard a woman Janet Drake was to please, much less gain a semblance of respect from. And by mother’s posture she respected, at least slightly, Madame Bourgeois. Martha Antoinette was very grateful that she and Tim had mastered French, it would be useful with impressing Madame Bourgeois as the addressment indicated she was French._

_“Janet, darling it’s been too long.” The new voice was accompanied by two sets of footsteps. One was lighter, like Martha’s so it must be another kid. The clicking of heels and new voice must belong to Madame Bourgeois._

_“Truly it has Audrey, thank goodness your magazine allowed you more autonomy. I am also aware that congratulations are in order, Andre just won the election correct?” Mother’s voice was laced with fake pleasantness, something Martha could only tell because of the swirlies in her gut. The swirlies also hinted that Mademoiselle Bourgeois knew as well, but the woman took it in stride._

_“Yes, I don’t know how he manages running the hotel when he’s so busy running Paris, but he appears to be doing well and the people do love him.” The woman with the clicking heels was before them now and Martha could only blink owlishly up at her. She was so different from anyone Martha had ever seen before, blonde hair chopped neatly above her shoulders and sharp wide bangs framed her face. She was in white pantsuit with a black undershirt that had sophisticated golden embroidery, the patterns matched that of the delicately golden earrings that dangled from her ears. She looked like one of those queens Martha and Tim would sometimes read about in the fantasy books Mrs. Mac would sometimes sneak into the manor for them._

_“This is my daughter.” Mother released her grip, choosing to slide the same hand to Martha’s outside shoulder in a way that would force her forward and in front of her mother. Sharp, perfectly manicured fingernails dug into Martha’s shoulder. Though Martha refused to flinch. According to Mrs. March young woman never flinched, and Mrs. March was the person mother and father had put in charge of her earlies grooming._

_“Bonjour Mme Bourgeois. Je m'appelle Martha Antoinette Drake. C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer.” The French words flowed smoothly from Martha’s mouth as she introduced herself to the woman. She could feel the fuzzy feeling of surprise from the two adults, though neither showed it. (Martha could see a bit of her mother’s reflection in the floor to ceiling window that replaced the wall before her._

_“C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer. Un nom si agréable que vous avez.” Madame Bourgeois said, and Martha could feel genuine pleasantness behind her words, nothing like the artificial feelings shared between Madame Bourgeois and her mother before. Then in English she introduced her daughter._

_“This is Chloé Bourgeois, my daughter. I hope the two of you will be able to get along while your mother and I discuss business.” A blonde girl hid behind the white legs of Madame Bourgeois’ pants, but not in a way that could be deemed cowering. More like, assessing. Yes, the blonde child was assessing the situation. (Martha beamed internally, she would have to tell Tim she used a big girl word today, even if it was in her own head.)_

_“I hope so to, it would be nice to know another girl my own age.” Martha’s voice was a soft dulcet sound, the type Mrs. March taught her. Polite, but aloof. Classy, but non comital._

_This sentence seemed to spur Chloé on._

_“Well, you’re in luck. Because should you prove worthy, I will allow you the honor of being my friend.” She turned towards a door on the wall adjacent to the one Martha and her mother had entered in. “Come on, the adults want to talk business.”_

_Martha followed her into that room, and what followed led to a friendship that would last forever._

\---

Alfred Pennyworth had seen a great many things in his life. He had, after all, been to war. He had seen atrocities, and committed unspeakable actions. During his time as a Special Operations Executive he had met a tiny creature named Duusu in Tibet. They worked together running special and covert operations with the powers Duusu was able to grant him through the miraculous until his second mission in Tibet four and a half years later. The mission that ended with five dead comrades and Duusu’s miraculous going missing.

He tried not to dwell on it.

He served as a butler under Thomas and Martha Wayne, and after their death, may the rest in peace, their son. A child who had taken his trauma and used it to form an unyielding determination. A determination that Master Bruce used to relentlessly pursue his mission, used to go out night after night to make Gotham a safer place. It was safe to assume he had seen enough to understand the situation the Drake children were in.

He did, and he was not pleased.

The first inkling of what might be happening behind the closed doors of Drake Manor came during the annual Wayne Gala. He had been surprised to see such a small child, so pale and fragile looking, take a stance against one of the elites. It reminded him greatly of the late Martha Wayne, a gentle voice subtly rebuking and decimating those who looked down on others. He was more surprised to find out she was a Drake, what with the silent fury Janet Drake had rolling off her in waves, or the disappointment that seemed to wrap around the father. However, the pride from the little boy, along with the love he held for his sister, warmed Alfred’s heart.

The perks of being a Peacock, the ability to sense emotions. When trained properly, a terrifying gift.

And then Master Bruce, Master Richard, and Master Jason revealed more of the puzzle. Two codependent children, a grasp of advanced knowledge, and a need to help others. This was not a good sign, not in the least. When they came to visit, he learned even more. Mrs. Mac was their primary caretaker, their parents were rarely home, and the children rarely got out of the house. Martha (so much like Martha Wayne with her mannerisms, if not more reserved) would be starting third grade soon (fourth if her parents signed the advancement form), and Master Timothy had already skipped a grade or two. Alfred also learned that Mrs. Mac made most of their food based on a strict nutritional plan made by the matriarch of the Drake family. He made sure to sneak the two as many sweets and snacks while they visited Martha’s wasp. Yet, the two children were able to hide a lot from even him.

The Wayne family members only saw a corner of the picture until the blizzard.

When Mrs. Mac wasn’t there to take care of the children, they were alone in that house and the Drake’s allowed for no form of entertainment outside of what was necessary to grow knowledge. So yes, while Master Jason had suggested Home Alone it was Alfred who left it in the pile of potential movies to watch. It was an apt description of the twins situation and was more of a subtle poke towards Master Bruce. It became very apparent that Timothy and Martha were truly living the movie when they mentioned building their own traps, and dissecting others.

Alfred found himself furious after that night, not that he ever let it show. Children were meant to be protected, and those children who were dwarfed in borrowed clothes of the occupants of Wayne household were not protected. They were left two their own devices in that big house, no one but each other for age appropriate company, and a laundry list of expectations and knowledge they needed to know and abide by.

It was deplorable, and Master Bruce better do something soon before he stepped in. Perhaps he was biased because of the potential kinship he shared with Martha.

He was certain she, like him, was a Peacock. The second gala the two tiny Drake’s attended cemented the knowledge in his mind, especially when Master Jason and Timothy explained the feelings she was getting. Feelings that weren’t her own. Feelings that were elevated because she had been deeming her own unimportant or shoving them down. Until one day it would consume her, and Alfred Pennyworth would not allow that to happen. He would protect those children.

Even if the Drake’s had spirited Martha Antoinette away, and Master Timothy had closed himself off.

\---

Disinfectant.

That was all Martha Antoinette could smell within the white walls she was trapped inside. She couldn’t say anything about it, the smell or the room. Every tried she tried to speak it felt like her mouth was full of sand or the words got stuck in her throat, choking her. Whenever she opened her mouth to speak inexplicable panic rose within her chest. It would get worse until she closed her mouth, and even then, the panic took minutes to evaporate. She couldn’t talk, no matter how much she wanted to. The doctors told mother and father it was most likely due to trauma; she would talk when she was ready and until then there were alternatives.

The hospital staff handling her case were surprised to learn she knew basic sign language. Her parents wore tight expressions whenever she used her hands to speak, or any of the other options available ready. The frustration that rolled of both her parents told her exactly what they thought of her inability to speak, and if it didn’t their words left no room for interpretation.

“Martha Antoinette Drake.” the hiss her mother gave caused a shiver to run down Martha’s spine. “This childish behavior is unacceptable and will win you no sympathy, cease this act at once.” Martha had tried, only to fall into what the doctors described as a panic attack.

“It has come to our attention we have been to lax with you.” Her father’s baritone had bounced around the car a month later, she had finally been released from the hospital psych ward (because she wasn’t talking it was harder to distinguish her health and the doctors also had to worry about that pesky broken ankle). “We have allowed you too much freedom. Freedom that you used to allow bad influences to enter your life and teach you bad habits while catering to your childish whims. That ends now.”

Martha had a sinking feeling she wasn’t returning to Drake Manor, not with the glistening of Mrs. Mac’s eyes. For some reason all three adults had come to pick her up, and while mother and father felt detached Mrs. Mac had remorse pooling off her. It was a little suffocating.

“You are much too old to be behaving in this manner Martha Antoinette. You are a Drake, and as it stands you are not behaving properly, which is why we are sending you to an acquaintance in France to finish your education on being a proper lady. You will learn manners and decorum appropriate of your status.” Mother’s voice stopped Martha’s heart, head shooting up as the car rolled to a stop.

“Mrs. Mac will be escorting you to Paris, where you will be staying with the Bourgeois’. She will be returning the following day. Your stuff has already been sent over, and Monsieur Bourgeois has been granted a fund to buy you anything that hasn’t as well as money for taking care of you. You will grow up Martha Antionette, even if we must force you.” Father’s voice held a finality that Martha couldn’t argue against, even if she could talk. Instead she let loose a noncommittal huff as she pulled herself out of the back of the car. Her parents speeding off almost as soon as Mrs. Mac had closed the door, a backpack hanging from her shoulder.

The woman who Martha connecting with family bent crouched down before her, arms wrapped tightly around Martha.

“I’m so sorry, sweet child.”

And then they were off.

\---

Chloé bounced impatiently next to Butler Jean Paul, ignoring the man who had one hand clasped gently around her own, the other holding a sign that said MARTHA in elegant script. (Chloé had made it herself). Daddy and Mommy had told Chloé a week ago that her bestest friend in the world (Adrien was a _boy_ so he was lower by default) would be living with them. Chloé was excited, she only ever got to see her Marinette when she visited mommy in America. Daddy had taken her aside after mommy had ended the call to explain some things to the blonde child.

Apparently, her Marinette had been through a traumatic event and wasn’t talking. Which was ok, Chloé and Marinette had learned French sign language so that when they video called and her daddy told Chloé to go to bed they could still talk. It had taken months, but it was worth it. That’s how they could communicate, Chloé was also used to being the voice of their duo. Marinette was weird when it came to voicing what she wanted, Chloé was not. So Chloé wasn’t worried, not in the slightest.

_She was prepared_.

She had set up the room right next to hers in a way that Marinette would love, and she had movies picked out for a cuddle fort tonight, and Marinette would _finally_ get to meet Adrien. It was going to be the greatest fun! So Chloé couldn’t help it when she saw Marinette, hand clutched tightly to a woman Chloé hadn’t met before. She tackled her friend in a hug and started blubbering all the things she was excited to do with her friend, and all the fun they would have. When she felt Marinette start to shake, a warm wetness soak her shoulder, and tight arms she promised she would protect her friend.

She was the Queen, and Marinette was hers. Someone had hurt her friend, and Chloé knew Tim would never, so it had to be her parents. That was ok, Chloé didn’t like the Drakes, they were fake. Except Marinette, and Timothy (but again Tim was a _boy,_ so he didn’t count).


End file.
